The Boy Who Disappeared
by brynerose
Summary: Many newsies in New York are orphans or runaways, kids who either don't have a past or don't want one. Read on to see how a particularly special newsie got to be where they are...and what they had to leave behind... no, I'm not going to tell you who -


The Boy Who Disappeared

**The Boy Who Disappeared**

A _Newsies_ story by Skip

(you'll have to guess who the star is!  )

Finished 8/8/06

December 1890

"Honey, I need you to keep up!"

"Comin,' Mama," I said absent-mindedly. _I never get to stay at the toy vendors_. It was a little difficult to push through the crowd, but brief flashes of bright red told me I was on the right track. I soon found her hand and clung to it. "Mama, why can't I stay and look at the toys? I never get to."

"We don't have time," Mama answered. She sounded tired. "And right now there's more pressing things we need the money for."

"Can't we just get more money?"

Mama couldn't resist a smile. "I wish we could. But Dad only gets a certain amount, and I can only wash and mend so many clothes a day. That's just how things are right now. Hard work will be rewarded in time, if one is patient."

"I can work hard!" I said brightly. "I could…I could do that!" I pointed as a boy not much bigger than me walked passed, carrying a stack of papers and yelling at the top of his voice.

"God-willing, you won't have to," said Mama, walking faster. "The last thing I'd do is put an eight-year-old into a workforce he doesn't understand. I couldn't live with myself. Now come along, I've a heap of work to finish and deliver before supper."

That seemed like the final word on the matter, so I put my energy into walking rather than asking more questions.

I should have been asleep, but too much of me was hoping to see Dad come home. He worked long hours in a factory, and often spent more time in the pubs afterward. Sometimes it would be days before he set foot in the apartment again. Maybe tonight…

The door was cracked just enough to see Mama. She was tired, propping her head up with one elbow on the table. A frail, sickly woman, Mama had been told she probably wouldn't live after having me. But here she was. Winter was the worst time for her. Sometimes she wasn't strong enough to leave the house, or even bed. She said I keep her going, though.

BANG!

Mama jumped, and looked towards the front door. Dad came home after all. I couldn't make out what they said, but Mama looked angry. I saw a hand appear and slap her face. Uh-oh, maybe Dad was drunk. Involuntarily, I slid a little farther under covers. Sometimes, when Dad got really angry, he hit me too.

Dad's footsteps drew close, then faded as they entered his own bedroom. Mama sat back down at the table. She was crying.

"Mama, why does Dad hit us when he's angry?" I asked. We were on our way to Miss Dorthea's apartment. It's a lot bigger than ours, but she lives there all by herself! Well, there's her butler.

Mama bit her lip before answering. "Well, he's always expressed his emotions with energy. But sometimes, when he's had too much to drink, he has trouble with control." Her face was still pale, even though she said she felt better.

Last night, there was another big fight. Dad yelled at Mama, and hit her a lot. When I asked him to stop, he hit me really hard across the face. I ran to the corner behind the table. He started to pick up a chair, but before he could throw it, he fell down and went to sleep. Mama's cheek was still puffy and bruised.

"Come on." Mama took my hand and pulled me to a side door just inside a narrow alley. She set down her basket and knocked three times.

A peep hole opened and closed. The door opened to reveal a tall, black man in a butler's tails—Duncan. He smiled at Mama with his big, white teeth.

"Miz Lydia," he said in his deep voice. "I wasn' 'spectin' you til later, but cum on in."

I followed Mama up the stairs and into the kitchen. "Are you getting ready for Christmas, Duncan? We are. We don't have enough money for a real tree, but Mama's gonna hang the special ornaments on the nails above the sofa. And there's just enough sugar to make cookies."

"Iz'at right, young sir?" Duncan said with a chuckle. "Sounds like you got yer work cut out." He looked at Mama. "Wait here a moment, I'll see where Miz Dorthee wants ye ta put it." He left.

"Dija hear that, Mama? He called me 'sir,' like I was a regaler first-class gennleman," I burst out in an excited whisper.

"That's what he's supposed to say, it's part of his job," Mama replied. She fussed with the bandana around her neck. "Mercy, I'd never be comfortable in a place this fancy."

"I would!" I said happily. "It'd be fun to have lots a money, an' servants ta do the work, an' warm clothes, an'—"

"Francis, _do_ behave yourself!" Mama cut in sharply. Just then, Duncan reappeared.

"I'm ta take you in to her."

Mama nodded, and picked up her basket. Miss Dorthea sat at the writing desk in her bedroom. She was a mean, fussy old lady who didn't like children. Like me. She watched Mama carefully hang each dress.

"Well, this certainly is an improvement from last time," she said in her high, scratchy voice. She handed Duncan a small parcel with a claw-like hand. "Give her her pay and remind her about next week. Dismissed."

Duncan escorted us back to the alley door. "Next week is the annual Christmas ball at Carnegie, and Miz Dorthee wishes you to make sure her best gown is in perfect condition. Here's your wages." He handed Mama the parcel, then produced some sweets from his pocket. "And for you, young sir. Merry Christmas."

My mouth fell open as he poured the candy into my hands. Here was a treasure, the likes of which I rarely ever saw. Mama cleared her throat.

"Thank you Duncan," I said quietly, and tucked the sweets into my biggest pocket.

"You're welcome," the big man replied. He nodded to Mama, then shut the door.

"Come along, Francis, or supper won't be ready," said Mama.

"I think the big, white ball should be in the middle. It's the most important," I said decisively. The ball had a hole on one side, and one could see tiny figures under a sparkly star. It was easily the fanciest trinket we owned. Mama said the ornaments belonged to her grandfather, when the family lived in Wales. They moved here to America when she was ten.

Mama smiled in spite of herself. "Just remember to be careful with them, especially the angel; its tin wings are very delicate."

"Delicate," I repeated. Very slowly, I climbed up on the sofa to hang the ornaments on nails. Mama actually laughed out loud.

"An excellent job, dear. Now come here and eat your supper."

"Only eight more days 'til Christmas Eve!"

"Yes, but that's nothing to look forward to if you're not a good boy."

_That_ got my attention. I scurried over to my seat and started eating. The soup wasn't much—Mama said she was saving up and saving ingredients to make a special Christmas dinner. Now _there_ would be a treat.

"Food still warm?"

Dad came thumping in, shoulders dusted with snow. Mama stood up and ladled more soup into a bowl while he took off his coat. Suddenly I was lifted off my chair into a hug, then Dad came back into view and sat down. He was smiling.

"What's put you in such a good mood?" asked Mama with her own suspicious smile.

"Can't a man be happy to see his beautiful wife and son?" Dad countered. He ate a few spoonfuls of soup. "Well, there's other reasons too. Something else to look forward to next week." He winked at me secretively.

I couldn't hold back my curiosity "Oh, what is it? Tell us! It is something big?"

Dad laughed openly. "It's not huge, but at least it's something. They announced today that there's going to be a little Christmas Eve bonus for everyone, with all the progress the factory's made this year, and we'll have Christmas Day to spend with our families!"

"Woohoo!" I jumped out of my seat, almost knocking my bowl from the table.

"Francis!" Mama cried in a scandalized tone. Dad stood up and held her back.

"Ah, let 'im celebrate. Shouldn't we all be?" He led her to the center of the living room and started dancing with her. Soon all three of us were laughing. But I couldn't help feeling confused. How could Dad be angry and hitting Mama one night, and then laughing and dancing with her the next? Somehow it was almost scarier to see him happy.

Mama said that when Dad's family came over from Ireland a long time ago, they brought their love of drinking with them. He sure loved drinking now. There was no telling what mood he'd come home in, or how fast it would change. I wished he would stay in one mood all the time. Then I'd at least know what to expect.

"Mama, why'd Dad have to go for a drink again?" I asked as she tucked me in. "Why can't he just stay the way he was?"

"God made everyone different," Mama said quietly. Her hand strayed to the silver necklace she always wore. She brushed my brown hair off my forehead and smiled. "Ooo, we may have to give your hair a trim before Christmas."

"But cowboys don't trim their hair," I protested, reaching for the book on the nightstand. It was a dime novel, and Mama had been reading a few pages to me each night. On the front was a rugged-looking cowboy. "And someday, I'm gonna go da Sana Fe and be one."

"Someday, maybe, but not tonight," Mama chuckled. Everthing was quiet for a moment.

"Mama, what if Dad does come home all angry again? Will'ee hurt us even though we've gone to bed already?"

"Oh sweetheart," said Mama. She leaned over and hugged me tightly. "You'll be safe, I promise." Softly, she started humming, an old Welsh lullaby I'd heard many times. As I dozed off, she started singing the words.

"_…Ni chaiff dim amharu'th gyntun; ni wna undyn a thi gam; huna'n dawel, annwyl bientyn; huna'n fwyn ar fron dy fam…_"

The next week seemed to pass really slowly. For a couple of days, Mama didn't feel well enough to leave the house. So she gave me careful instructions to do the shopping. I got in a fight on the way, and won! I guess Dad's hitting isn't all bad. But I got a bloody lip, and the boy ripped my shirt. Mama couldn't fix it because she was busy with Miss Dorthea's gown. It looks almost too expensive to wear, she said. I wish I could get Mama a dress like that.

We haven't seen Dad for a few days. Maybe he's fixing up another surprise, for Christmas. I hope he finishes soon. Mama's worried about money again. But she says we don't need money to have a merry Christmas.

"Mama, look what I found!" I shouted, bursting into the apartment. Mama peeked around the corner with her hands full of sticky bread dough. I waved a long, thin stick. "It's just like the swords they use in Sana Fe. Now I can fight off bandits!"

Mama smiled and shook her head. "Where on earth did you find that?"

"In the alley. Gavin Wallace was there too. We swordfighted until he got called in for dinner."

"Well then get over here, you look chilled to the bone," said Mama. She put the dough down to rise, and wiped off her hands. "That rip's gotten bigger. Good thing we dropped off that gown this morning. Tell you what; you fend off the bandits so I can mend your shirt without trouble."

After wriggling out of it, I immediately started bounding about, fighting any invisible bandits who tried to reach Mama. Meanwhile, Mama was trying her best to keep a straight face while she sewed up the torn fabric. She finished the same time I stopped, trying to catch my breath.

"When I grow up, I wanna be a cowboy!" I announced. I stepped back so Mama couldn't reach the buttons, so I could do them myself. Buttons can be tricky things when they want to be.

"Wait a minute, Francis, you've got it in the wrong hole," Mama said patiently. She redid them for me, then held me out at arm's length. After thinking for awhile, she took off her bandana and tied it around my face. "There, now you're a real cowboy with a secret identity and everything. You can even have some treasure that the bandits stole." She carefully put her necklace in my hand.

I grinned, even though she couldn't see it, but the happiness faded as Mama glanced at the door.

"When's Dad coming home?"

"Soon dear, soon," Mama sighed. For a moment she seemed like someone else, someone unfriendly. Then she smiled back at me. "It's well past your bedtime. Come on, you're father will want to see a good boy who listens to his mother."

I walked ahead of her to my bedroom, but as we reached the door there was a BANG! behind us.

Dad stood in the open front doorway. He must have drunk a lot, because he could hardly walk straight. There was a funny look on his face. "'S suppa dun wid, Lydia?"

"Stay here, Francis," Mama whispered, though as soon as she approached Dad, I hid in the corner behind the table.

"Yes, but if you sit, I'll reheat some for you," she added to Dad. She seemed strange and unfriendly again. "Where's the bonus they gave you? I don't get paid again until after the rent is due, and we won't have enough without that extra bit."

Dad gave her a vague smile. "I dunno, I think the bar girl might've stolen it or something."

"And you think that's funny?" Mama paused, looking back towards my room. She spoke more quietly. "We could get evicted! I think this little drinking problem of yours has gone too far. Something _must_ be done about it."

"Who are you to be giving orders around here, eh? I am the head of the family; _I_ give the orders here!" Dad hissed angrily.

"Some head of the family. I've been left to raise our son and hold together some kind of world for him while you're off drinking like the Irish peasant you are!" Mama shot back. "Do you know how many nights I sit here, wondering if you'll come home?"

"Hold your tongue, woman!" Dad shouted. He slapped Mama across the face. Mama stepped out of his reach, looking scared. I kept looking from one to the other so fast that the bandana slipped down around my neck. Dad was really angry now. He kept following Mama and hitting her. Finally, she tripped over a corner of the rug. Still he kept hitting her. She was struggling less and less.

"Stop it!!" I screamed. Suddenly I was out of the corner, running at my parents before I knew what I was doing. Dad's arm swung back at just the right height for me to grab. I was scared; he'd never hit me or Mama for this long, and if he kept going, he could really hurt her. Of course, now he'd just start on me.

But he didn't. With a huge roar, he threw me off so my feet actually left the ground for a moment. It all happened so fast I couldn't stop myself. Stars exploded around me as my head collided with the wall, then the corner of the table. I could have cried from the pain, but everything was looking and sounding funny. Something warm was trickling down my cheek.

"Francis! Francis!" I heard Mama scream. Her voice sounded muffled. I caught one more glimpse of her before Dad blocked her completely. His arm was still going up and down, up, down, up…

"Try not to move, son, I'll bet you have quite a headache."

My eyes still felt heavy, but the throbbing pain made them water anyway. Where was I? What had happened? My hand touched soft fabric, and something else. The something moved and rested on top of my arm. Another hand, warm and comforting.

"Mama?" I asked fearfully. Very close, I heard a sigh. Finally, I convinced my eyes to open slowly. It wasn't Mama.

A man in a white coat was leaning over me. He looked concerned and sad. I noticed something whitish hanging down from my forehead, and reached up to touch it. Some kind of bandage. Then, everything flooded back.

I sat up and burst into tears, making the man jump back. Between sobs I managed to tell him the whole story, or as much as I knew. He looked grim the entire time.

"…and then everything went black, and th-that's all I can hh r-remember," I finished. "Ya gotta help 'er b-before it's too late!" I scrubbed at my face with a corner of Mama's bandana, which was still hanging around my neck. Through my tears I could see her necklace shining on the bedside table.

"It's alright, it's alright," said the man. "The police caught your father and locked him up last night. He won't be able to hurt you anymore."

It occurred to me for the first time that light was shining through the window. Christmas morning! Something still didn't feel right, though.

"What about Mama?" I asked. "Where's she?" Dread filled my stomach when the man hesitated.

"We did all we could," "It was some time before the police could contain your father and let us in. By then she was just too far gone. So I stabilized you and brought you back here for further treatment. I'm sorry."

I felt numb. The doctor's words didn't make any sense, but they conveyed one thing: Mama wasn't there. I remained silent until he finally walked away. How could she leave me? She was the only one who really loved and cared for me. Days went by, and I slowly got better. I said one or two words when the nurse brought meals, though only because Mama said it was polite. I still ignored the doctor.

Then one day, the doctor brought in a man. He wore a black, fancy-looking suit, and had silver-grey hair. There was something about him I didn't like.

"Francis Sullivan, this is Warden Snyder," said the doctor. I said nothing, just went back to playing with Mama's bandana. The doctor sighed. "The Warden here manages the Refuge, a house for orphans and street children. When he heard about your case, he immediately offered to take you in until another family can be found. Would you like that, having a family to care for you again?"

"I want Mama!" I muttered without looking up.

"Nothing I can do will bring her back. You have to move on to other options now," the doctor pleaded. But I refused to say anything else.

"Not much of a talker, is he?" said the Warden.

"I'm afraid not," replied the doctor. "His father was abusive, just sent to prison, and his mother, God rest her soul, was the only other family he had. He's taking the loss very hard."

The Warden nodded. "I think the Refuge would be the best place for him now. Not only can we give him a home, we can ensure that he doesn't take after his father's ways. When he reenters family and society, he can be an upstanding and productive citizen."

"Give me a couple more days," said the doctor. "Just to be sure he's ready to be released. Francis' left temple had hit the corner of a table. Very sensitive spot, that is. I'll send him when I'm sure."

The Warden acknowledged this with a curt nod, and left. The doctor kneeled by my bed so he could see my face.

"I'm not sure why you're putting up this fight," he said wearily. "Nettie says you talk to her, at least. Nothing will ever totally replace what you've lost, but there are people who want what's best for you, if you let them. _This_ is what's best for you." He sat there for a minute, then left as well.

_What do _you _know about what's best for me_? I thought bitterly. _Families are poor and controlling and they fight a lot. I don't want another one_! I knew what was left to do—run away and make my own life. It couldn't be that hard; people went west and did it all the time.

Why wait? I tied the bandana around my neck like Mama used to, and reverently put her necklace in my pocket. No one else was going to know about it, ever. It was the most treasured thing she'd owned. I also took the blanket off the bed, even though I knew it was wrong to steal. It was still very cold outside, and I had nothing else.

I was lucky to be on the first floor. That way all I had to do was slip out the window. No one would notice. But before I could close it again, there was a noise in the hallway. I ran for it. They'd be on to me now, but it didn't matter. I was free!

"Whaddaya think yer doin' in there, ya liddle rat!"

I yelled in surprise as someone roughly pulled me from the cubby hole I'd found not too long ago. A haggard-looking man with a grey beard stood over me before disappearing into the hole himself. "This 'ere's my spot!"

A blast of wind sent me shivering. "Wait, my blanket!"

The man gave me an unpleasant, yellowed grin. "Well, ya shoulda thoughta that _before_ I got in. Haha! No wind for old Snipes tonight! Now beat it."

I stumbled down the snowy street, clutching my coat around me. The first stop I'd made after leaving the hospital was the old apartment. Dark stains on the rug had made me feel sick. I wasn't there long. I grabbed my coat, the Santa Fe book Mama was reading to me (she was also teaching me how to read by myself), and loaded all the food that was left into her errand bag. Then I was rid of that place forever.

It was well past dark now, and I'd run out of food days ago. Part of me just wanted to lie down and go to sleep, but I knew I had to keep moving. I didn't want that Warden Snyder to find me.

Suddenly I was flat on my face in the snow. Everything felt strange again. There was a fuzzy yellow light close by, then a dark shadow blocked it. Was that a voice? I couldn't tell. It didn't matter…nothing mattered…

"C'mon kid, you alive?"

"I woke up with a groan. Everything felt cold and stiff, and something was tapping my cheek. I tried to wave it away.

"C'mon, I didn't bring ya in heah so ya could die on me. Hello?"

Grudgingly, I opened my eyes. It was still dark, but everywhere I looked I could see beds filled with sleeping boys. Now I was wide awake and panicking. "Where am I, the Refuge? He can't've…I can't—"

"Heyheyhey, shhhh! Will ya keep it down?" the voice hissed. I turned. A boy several years older than me was leaning in close. He looked tough. "Dis ain' da Refuge, so calm down. I's about tree in da mornin.'"

"Then where am I?"

"Newsboys Lodge," replied the boy. "Found ya 'bout five feet frum the door. Wha's a liddle kid like youse doin' out dere in da middle 'a da night? Got parents?"

"I did, but I can't find 'em," I said glumly.

"I see. Well, dis is a pretty big city ta soich. In da meantime, you cin stay wid us."

"Who's 'us'?"

"Da Manhatt'n newsies," said the boy, gesturing around. "Sum of 'em have families, but most stay heah. I'm Matti Johnson, leada an' best newsie around, but da boys calls me Spades."

"Why?"

"'Cuza dis." He pulled his collar to one side, revealing a pale birthmark in the shape of the spades on playing card. "Dat an' I'm a pretty mean at poker. So whaddaya say?"

I thought hard. Part of me still wanted to find Mama, or even a family. I had no one out here. But how many families could afford an extra kid, anyway? I swore I'd make my own life—this seemed to be the place to do it. So I nodded. "I'm in. At least until I get enough ta go da Sana Fe an' be a cowboy."

Spades smiled. "Cowboy, huh? Dat settles it den. Younga sells more papes, so stick wid me an' I'll teach ya ev'ryting dere is ta know. Taggeda we'll get rich in no time. How 'bout dat, ya wanna sell papes fer me?"

"Yeah!" This was working out better than I could hope.

"A'right, shhh, keep it down. Foist tings foist is sleep," said Spades. "Oh, one more ting. Ya got a name, kid?"

Another hard question. I didn't want to leave everything behind, but this was a whole new life. My old one was just secrets and memories now, and no one needed to know about it. Ever. As I looked down, I spotted a name carved in the wooden bed frame. It was almost worn away now.

"Jack…_Jack Kelly_."

Spades nodded. "See ya in a few hours, Jack."

I watched him walk away to his own bunk. Spades was going to get more than he bargained for. Whether it was stealing, fighting, or selling papers, I wasn't just going to survive. Jack Kelly was going to be the best they'd ever seen.

The End!

If you didn't catch the Christian Bale reference, I got the Welsh lullaby from _Empire of the Sun_. One translation of the section goes as follows: "_Nothing shall tonight alarm you; none shall harm you, have no fear; lie contented, calmly slumber; on your mother's breast my dear._" I picked it because it's heart-wrenching foreshadowing! :sniff:


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